Teenagers
by Zero.Elektronik
Summary: They weren't supposed to be like this. They were supposed to be normal, everyday teenagers. Done for the 100 theme challenge.


**Done for the 100 theme challenge.**

**Warning: Hints of slash.**

**Disclaimer: South Park doesn't belong to me.**

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All night long parties, getting drunk and stoned, skipping school to go make out at Stark's Pond, failing classes and getting detention week after week, Broken hearts and bad hair days. That's what teenagers did. What Gregory and Christophe did, that wasn't.

Each night Christophe would wait for his mother to fall asleep, then lock his door and takes out all of his weapons, placing the large shovel in the strap on his back - even after all these years of use it hadn't rusted away, the shine had slightly faded with blood stains and dirt embedded into the metal. Lighting a cigarette - Marlboro, his favourite - and opening his window quietly, though the house was old, it was hard to keep quiet. Jumping out the window and making his way through the bushes, cigarette tightly pressed against lips. He'd make his way to Gregory's - avoiding the floodlights and climbing the wall to Gregory's room. Some nights, he wouldn't do that, he'd get on his motorbike and speed down the road, heading to some shady warehouse and take out the new members of a local underground organization. Whatever Gregory had told him to do; he went out and did it. He'd return of a night, bullet to the shoulder and falling through the Brit's window, leaving blood on the windowsill and groaning. Gregory would calmly put down any files he had been rearranging, and tend to the bullet wound. And when he was all cleaned up (sometimes they didn't even wait till then), they'd fuck against the wall, being thankful of the size of Gregory's house and that his parents wouldn't hear. They'd make plans to take down corrupt politicians, crumbling their well-built organizations and taking hits on their leaders. They'd steal diamonds and hi-tech computer software, selling it for the highest price on the black market. Going undercover, whilst Gregory manipulated people to do what he wanted whilst Christophe fucked and killed their main opposition. This isn't what teenagers did. This is what fifty year old gangsters did.

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The blonde Brit was skilled at what he did. Seventeen and he had blown his older, wiser rivals out of the metaphorical water. He had a way with words that no one else his age had. The way he could easily bring people to follow his orders, twist their beliefs around and blackmail his opponents was perfect. His pretty looks and charming English accent didn't do any harm either - though he wasn't interested in them the girls seemed to be willing to help a blonde boy with a posh accent. A quick look through his filing cabinets would tell you about the work he does - files and files of paper with assignments, signed reports of who to kill and what to steal. He made over a million dollars with every mission, and was one of the richest people in America - his wealthy family barely noticed their son had more money than all of them put together. He'd plan to become a leader one day - whether this was of the country, or of the mafia was unsure.

The French mercenary didn't have it so easy. Eighteen, and with a body count of over three-hundred resting on his conscience. He was unbelievably lucky - hit in the head with a metal pipe three times, shot twice, and stabbed in the shoulder and he'd still be sitting around in Gregory's room complaining about the British. He was incredibly talented too; no-one could snipe out an enemy from a helicopter, two miles away, like he could. He could disable a bomb in under thirty seconds in the dark, and kill someone so cleanly and quietly that even standing next to the victim, no one would notice. He could dig like no one else could, with a quiet passion as he tunneled through the underground; the dirt was his second home. Strong and muscular, tanned with a thick, heavy accent and scars marking his body. The way he'd glare at you would make you wish the ground would swallow you up and devour you where you stood.

They weren't supposed to be like this. They were _supposed _to be normal, everyday teenagers.


End file.
